


Clandestinity and Mirages

by meatysan



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meatysan/pseuds/meatysan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An in-depth and slightly altered interpretation of Mothy's "Duke Venomania's Madness". New characters have been added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clandestinity and Mirages

I remember always being mocked as a child. Regardless of the status of my father and his fathers before him, even I was not exempt from the ridicule which so many children face. Of course, with the face of a monster, perhaps it was to be expected. It’s incredible to think that with just one glance, a seemingly ordinary human being can become a living horror- and it’s more than enough to drive a man into seclusion.

As I reflected upon my past, the remaining portrait of those days burned before me within the mantelpiece, and soon became entirely engulfed by flames. The loud peal of the grandfather clock on the far side of the room startled me out of my trance, and rang twelve times after the initial Westminster chime. Sleep hadn’t come for two nights- the dark, thundering voice to which I’d enslaved myself echoing repeatedly in the back of my mind, keeping me from getting even a momentary rest.

Miserably, I made my way over to the clock that had called my attention, and stared into its hollow, acoustic body. I began to lose myself once more as its quiet pendulum entranced me, and guilt began to crawl up from within as I again recalled the events of the that particular evening.

It was like that of any other- I, Duke Sateriajis Venomania, alone at my dining table fit for twenty. It had been many years since I’d left the safe haven of my estate, and I was more than aware that in my predicament, wealth mattered little to none. Everywhere I turned, a timepiece reminded me that slowly, worthlessly, my life was inching away. More than that, proven by countless tales throughout the ages, a life lived alone was not worth having lived at all. I, too, believed it. Fallen sway to the prose of the Ancient Greeks and Shakespearian sonnets, I believed that above all, even that of gold or silver, it was love that was the greatest of currencies.

But what such thing was a monster like me able to claim?

Bottles and crystal of merlot both lay upturned and spilled across my table, their contents having created my home into a world which blurred the lines of reality and illusion. I’d started on my eighth flute of sauvignon in hopes that it might be my last. If only, I prayed miserably to the ears of some deaf god, I could exchange wealth for beauty, exchange gold for charm, or gems and jewels for love.

I opened my eyes from prayer to an unfamiliar world, shrouded in darkness, where I was voiceless, and seemingly without face or form. Even despite this, I could feel my frightened heart pounding in my chest as I wondered if this was the afterlife I’d so desperately grasped for.

A voice echoed in my ears, and seemed to originate from all around, and yet simultaneously from inside my skull. For as long as I live, I shall never forget such a voice. Never had I felt so humble or mortal as I did in that presence.

“Above all, is it beauty you desire?” it asked me.

“More than anything,” I cried in return.

“And for this, what would you sacrifice?”

“Anything,” I replied. “My wealth, my blood, my soul!” I pleaded; the opportunity I’d waited for all my life suddenly so close it was nearly tangible.

“Your soul?” it reiterated. “Do you value it so little?”

I contemplated only briefly. I would’ve far rather had one lifetime of charm than an eternity of hideousness. Certainly without a soul I could still remain a virtuous man! Perhaps not all morals are abandoned upon having waived the rights of the simple human spirit!

“While I value my soul as much as any other, if given the opportunity, I would dispose of it eternally for one lifetime of love. I would make myself into a pauper if needed be- there is nothing I would not do!”

“A devil has no need for riches,” the voice replied. “Would you take the life of another?”

While I could not touch it, I felt my throat tighten and simple words became entangled strings in my mind. What a question to ask! How could a person take the life of another for the sake of something so undoubtedly superficial? Yet, while I thought this, I too thought about the possible brilliance of living without fear of being taunted and mocked. Accompanied with my wealth, would I be able to love whomever I wished? Surely there are those whose lives are worthy of being sacrificed. Drunkards, heathens, prisoners of the state… Yes, those individuals are certainly not equivalent to the life that I would live.

“Yes,” was my strained reply. “I would.”

And perhaps what frightened me most was that in my heart, I knew it was true.

“Very well,” the voice replied, followed by a dismal and chilling laugh that nearly froze the blood in my veins. “I will accept your offer, Sateriajis Venomania, but remember your wager well. You may find that beauty is worth less than you first believed.” Another terrible laugh and the voice dissipated entirely.

I jolted from slumber on the floor of the dining hall, my chair on its side, and broken glass glittering like stars on the marble. With a groan, I pushed myself to my feet, a miserable throbbing ache in my temples. As I pressed my fingers to them in an attempt to bring forth some relief, I felt blood on the tips of my fingers.

Such an awful, awful dream it must’ve been that I would’ve thrown myself about enough to bring myself harm! Dizzy and weary, I stumbled my way to the master bath, and turned the dial on the washtub in order to run myself a bath. Undressing from beneath many layers of fine clothing, I removed the tie from my hair, and settled into the water.

My exhausted body found an immediate sense of relief, and I let out a heavy sigh; the nightmare still consuming my thoughts. Strands of violet hair caught my attention as they floated before me, and I stared at them a while as my mind also drifted along. Would I truly take one’s life for the sake of beauty?

It was something I did my best not to think about, if only in fear of the answer. I’d always done my best to purge my life of evil, although it may not have been entirely for the sake of good virtue alone. There was always the part of me that I often denied existed- a part that believed that if I proved myself worthy to God, I might be granted one simple miracle.

No miracle ever came, regardless of how much I prayed, no matter how seasoned my Bible, and despite how often I’d send for a priest. My faith began to dwindle as the torment of others increased, and those who knew me as a child passed their hatred down to their children, who often pelted me with stones and degrading jeers.

I’d lost my faith almost entirely before the night of that dream…For what merciful God denies mercy to a man of such obedience?

After my bath, I dressed in my nighttime wear, and made my way to my chambers with the hope that there I would find a more peaceful slumber. However, as I lied in bed, my orchid eyes shut, sleep refused to come. I must’ve lied there awake for at least six hours before I rose again. In the end, I decided that it might do well for me to clean up the result of my tantrum from the dining hall.

I sighed at the sight, ashamed at my own childishness, and began collecting the wares from the table. Nothing could have prepared me for what the reflection in that glass had in store for me. I saw only a brief glimpse of my reflected face in the crystal, and it startled me so much that I instinctively dropped it, the glass shattering with a sharp sound, and the pieces scattering in my vision as if time itself had slowed.

For some reason, I looked about me, as if someone might’ve been present to bear witness to my vulnerability. Willing my heart to calm down, I swept the fragments into my trembling hands. After retrieving the other glassware, I quickly scurried into the kitchen.

Was what I saw a trick of my restless mind? Perhaps it was best not to think about it. I cleaned up an armful of bottles, and swept the remaining bits of glass from the floor. The more I tried to push away the thoughts of what I’d seen, the more it pulled at my attention. I swallowed as I attempted to order my thoughts. Both were surprisingly difficult tasks. All I truly needed to do for confirmation was look into the mirror. Once my father had died and his staff had left my service, I’d made certain to cover all of the manor’s mirrors, lest I be forced to view my unfortunate self upon passing.

But now, for the first time in five years, I was tempted to remove the sheet from the glass, and look at myself. It may have even disturbed me a little to think that the urge to view myself was even present. Still, I found myself not walking, but running to find the nearest mirror. My stomach knotted in uneasiness, and my breath left my lungs as quickly as it entered as I started at a full sprint to the master bath.

Before me, a mirror several feet wide and high was covered by a thick, dust-ridden curtain. As I stood there, my eyes wide and my chest heaving, the embroidery’s spiraling patterns seemed nearly to entice me further. I remained there standing, staring, for several minutes as hesitation sent me back and forth between decisions. In one hand laid fear and shame, while in the other laid potential bliss for the first time since I could remember. I braced myself to the best of my abilities as I extended a hand to pull down the curtain, and with my eyes tightly shut, I gave the fabric a firm pull- I felt the cloth give, and slowly, I opened my eyes.

Staring back at me, with my own eyes, was a man nothing short of divine.

 

I stood there, dazed, mesmerized, and cautiously reached out to touch the face of the man in the mirror, and then reached up to feel my own. Excited sobs clutched at my throat, my newfound splendor in my hands. Perhaps that was all that was needed in order for my miracle-a slight doubt in faith in order to have God prove himself!

I stopped altogether as I remembered the dream. It wasn’t God who’d granted me this gift. Rather, the contrary. Again weary and light-headed, I stumbled back and braced myself against the wall as I did my best to keep my head from spinning. No… It couldn’t be! Other than the obvious, there wasn’t the slightest bit of difference! I sighed in relief, and concluded that it was simply a test of my will. I smiled, and found my gaze drawn back up to the mirror where the handsome man stood smiling back at me.

Turning on my heel, I darted to my chambers and dressed in my best evening wear, and went with lively strides to the door- for I no longer had a reason to fear the outside!

However, I stopped just short. While I may have no longer had a reason to fear walking amongst common folk, the fear itself was still present, engraved deep into my will. More than just disappointed in myself, I closed the door from the inside, and leaned back against it, my eyes closed. Perhaps tomorrow, I thought as I walked back to my chambers to get changed for the umpteenth time that night.

I did what I could to get some rest, and in fact tried multiple times before abandoning the idea completely. I remained sleepless for two days- which leads back to where I presently stood at the grandfather clock.

I jumped again as the clock struck one, and bitterly turned away from it. Humming a small, lifeless tune to myself, I wandered into the kitchen. I recalled the days when I was younger, and the kitchen was teeming with staff, rushing around to prepare three-course meals for my father and his multitude of guests. I often watched those meals progress from the stairwell, hidden away due to my own shame, and fear of driving away my father’s company- as well as invoking my father’s rage.

I checked each of the pantries, cabinets, and baskets, all of which were now bare. I’d finished the last of the supplies the day before, when I turned to food as a distraction from my lack of sleep. With the sinking feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, I realized there was no longer any option but to leave the safe enclosure of my mansion. I peered over at the clock mounted on the wall, and counted down the hours until noon, when the shops and vendors in central Asmodin began to open. Tying my hair back, I decided upon spending the next few hours in the library.

I made my way up the stairs upon which I spent much of my childhood, and nothing other than the sound of my footsteps were left to accompany me down the long carpeted corridor. Once there, I pushed open the cathedral-esque double doors and entered. It was nothing short of a literary heaven, with generations’ worth of books and compilations stacked in ceiling-high shelves. As I idly browsed, a particular pair of books caught my attention: Goethe’s tragedy, Faust, in both parts. I chuckled a little at the irony of the situation, and pulled out the second part, idly flipping through it.

In that moment, I felt rather like Faust himself, having bargained his soul with some hellish overlord amidst the quest of happiness. As I reached the end, I couldn’t help but to notice that the pages describing Faust’s ascension to heaven had been torn out up until the very last page, which was only partially intact- just enough to house the final passage of the play:

“All that must disappear  
Is but a parable;  
What lay beyond us, here  
All is made visible;  
Here deeds have understood  
Words they were darkened by;  
The Eternal Feminine  
Draws us on high.”

The coincidence disturbed me so much that I instantaneously slammed the book shut and forced it beside its prior part. I couldn’t push my mind from the idea that ‘coincidence’ may very well have just been my sanity’s synonym for ‘destiny’. A chill raced through the air and cut into the very core of me. I rubbed my arms while silently wishing for the comfort of warmth to be restored to my body. Looking back at the shelves, I decided on another selection- A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. The book was only slightly out of season, it being the eighteenth of December.

Recalling that, I glanced out of the window at the far end of the library. To my surprise, there wasn’t the slightest hint of snow aside from the morning frost. And on that note, I turned back to the novella, becoming absent in the critically acclaimed tale of an old man’s transformation from callused bitterness into that of hospitality and selflessness. I read onward with an unconscious smile on my face, before noticing the pinkish light cast on the print pages.

I rubbed my eyes a moment, and leaned forward to look out of the window again. The sun peeked up about halfway over the horizon, and created a rather eerie and nostalgic glow in the early morning sky. After marking my page, I set the book down and headed over to the window, glancing down at the vast, demonic shapes cast by the sun against my gardens below. In the distance, I could see plumes of smoke begin to puff up from a few of the little houses in town, and habitually turned to look at the time.

After realizing that it was a quarter before eight, I hurried in to change my clothes (which by this point was nothing short of bothersome), wearing the best daywear I could’ve possibly pieced together. After, I removed the coverings from my full-length mirror, and adjusted my cravat according to par. My smile faded when I took a more observant look at myself. My back curved at a cowardly slouch, my shoulders drawn in defensively.

Internally, I scolded myself for my posture, and reminded myself that my father would have never permitted anything of the sort. With a slightly painful bit of effort, I straightened my back, broadened my shoulders, (perhaps puffed out my chest a bit), and put on the most charming smile I could’ve mustered- however, in smiling, I only embarrassed myself and turned away.

After a moment of thought, I decided that it might be in my favor to leave early, lest I come in contact with a crowd- until I recalled the face that I saw in the mirror. Confidently, I laughed to myself. I wouldn’t leave early because of some senseless paranoia, but I would leave early simply because I wished to!

I found a dreadful familiarity once my first step found its place outside the door. Again, I hesitated, standing there in the doorway like a fool. I took a moment to gather myself, and with a slight push of my subconscious, I exited, and closed the door behind me.

 

After about an hour and a half of walking and being left to my thoughts, I reached the little stretch of road which led into town. I removed my watch from my pocket just long enough to glance at the time- it was now nine-seventeen- and I entered town like a timid dog.

Would I be attacked and harassed again? Would I be teased and jeered at?

I found that my breath caught each time I passed a reflective surface.

Thinking about it further, having gone from demon to deity, would I even be recognized?

Allowing myself to believe the latter, I held my head high, as a man of my lineage should, and moved forward with as much regality as I could summon. As the minutes passed and I strolled around aimlessly, the square began to flood with townsfolk about their early afternoon business.

It was then that a familiar sound ensued; indistinct whispers, catty gossip, hushed chatter. I felt my hands curl into defensive fists, and then draw closer to my chest. Was what I saw in the mirror just an illusion? Was it something that only I could see? In a panic, I put my hands to my face, my heart beating a tantric fury as I wheeled around to flee back to my palace.

I knew it was all too good to be true! I’d been made a fool of yet again!

But with my vision hindered by my fingers, I could hear all the better. I noticed that the voices weren’t coming from children, as I’d expected. They were coming from young women.

“Who is that man? He’s so charming!” I heard one woman sigh.

“How mysterious! I can’t imagine not having seen him before!” another smiled.

“He must have only recently arrived! I would never forget a face like that!”

I lowered my hands from my face to see who they were referring to. It was as I’d suspected. The group of women were huddled together, their eyes fixated on me, until I looked in their direction, after which they turned to one another. Their whispers became more excited and frequent until it was a terrible trio of chimpanzee-like screaming.

It wasn’t an illusion after all! I was as radiant as my reflection had shown! A beam of pride spread over my features, and I took another glance at the women who had so vocally admired me. The more I looked at them, the more my smile faded. These women were the very same who had so often spoke cruelly of me, and who had encouraged the town’s children to chase after me with stones and broom handles. My joyful expression was gone now, and only a scowl of disgust remained in its place. I couldn’t refrain from glaring as I passed them, and headed over to one of the fruit vendors.

The woman who ran the stall was rather old, and I recalled that she’d always been kindly to me.

“Good day, young man,” she greeted with a toothless smile. “Take as much time as you’d like.”

I thanked her briefly and began browsing the various selections. The pomegranates seemed particularly appealing, and I asked her how much they cost.

“Oh, those were just delivered yesterday! My son picked them himself,” she responded thoughtfully. “Normally they’re three pieces of silver, but because you remind me so much of my son, I’ll only ask for two. Don’t tell anyone!” she chuckled.

I smiled back at her and selected five of them. “Thank you,” I replied, and gave her the amount for which she normally asked for.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Bless you, sir!” she smiled.

I walked away with a smile, the feeling on my conscience high. With my first task out of the way, I continued on, stopping at the bakery as well as at a few other vendors to stock up on supplies for my estate. Once I’d purchased nearly more than I could carry, I delivered my groceries back at my home, before deciding that I felt confident enough to return into town for leisure’s sake.

I laughed a little to myself as I continued to notice that I was repeatedly startled by the sight of my own reflection, and often couldn’t meet eyes with myself. Perhaps, I thought, I’d celebrate this day with the purchase of a symbolic item. What better item than a mirror! I recalled that nearby, a small, rather unknown mirror-maker’s shop rest, and according to the word of those in town, it would’ve been entirely forgotten if not for the fact that it was the only one of its kind for many miles. However, I’d also heard that the owner had passed away, and so there was also the chance that the shop had closed down permanently.

Thinking optimistically, however, I pursued the shop, and eventually found it wedged in between a well-renowned jeweler’s and that of a music box-maker’s. Peering inside through the glass door, I could barely even see through the thick layers of dust which blanketed its surface, and from what I was able to see, the greeting room was completely void of human activity. Frowning a little in disappointment, I looked up to the sign which hung suspended above the door by a rusty iron hook and some chains. “Halding Reflections,” the faded letters read.

It seemed as if the shop had in fact closed. Despite my conclusion, a part of me- perhaps it was intuition- protested, and pressured me to enter the shop. After failing to shake off the odd feeling, I heeded to it and pushed against the door. To my surprise, it opened, and a series of bells chimed from above. It made a seemingly unnecessary amount of noise, and an unpleasant, dissonant noise at that, but I thought little more about it before I took to browsing the greeting room.

Even before I noticed the mirrors, I noticed the smell. Sharp metallic smells, and suffocating, harsh chemicals made my eyes water, and I began to understand why I was the only one standing in the reception area.

Several mirrors of various makes sat upon long, pub-like counters, and others, several feet high, were propped up by hidden means. In the beams of light that filtered in through the door and windows, the particles of dust in the air seemed like snow as they circled about. In response, I coughed, and paced my way to the main counter. Not a soul in sight. The only thing I could take notice to was an ancient and raggedy-looking curtain which was strung from one wall of the shop to another. My curiosity was roused, and I couldn’t help but to wonder what lay behind it.

I sighed to myself and tapped the toe of my boot against the old wooden floor as I continued to browse the lesser wares. Spotting a service bell on the counter, I eyed it a moment before deciding that ringing it once or twice could do no harm.

I waited several minutes. No response. I shrugged my shoulders briefly before turning around to leave- that was, until I heard something rustle from behind the curtain. I jumped, startled, and turned around in time to see a young pink-haired man weave his way out from a slit in the curtain.

The young man immediately struck me as at the very least, bizarre, and his behavior reminded me somewhat of a mole rising from a burrow in the ground. “How may I help you?” he asked at the counter.

He wouldn’t meet eyes with me. In fact, he seemed more occupied by something on the wall. I couldn’t help but find this incredibly inconsiderate, and so cleared my throat as to gain his full attention. Without saying anything, he turned his head, but still didn’t seem to look at me.

That was when it occurred to me. I waved my hand before his face to test my theory. His eyes, glossy and green, failed to follow my hand. He lifted his head and leaned forward a little. “Sir?” he called out. The young man was blind.

“I’m here,” I replied. “I was told that this was a shop which made and sold mirrors,” I explained. “But I apologize, I must’ve-”

“You’ve come to the right place,” he interrupted. “Please follow me,” he instructed, gesturing me to proceed after him as he retreated back behind the curtain. My eyes widened as soon as I saw his hand. It was severely burned, stained with some mysterious black substance, and he appeared to be missing his fourth and second fingers. Deciding to keep this observation to myself, I followed him.

The room I entered was absolutely breathtaking. This shop was unmistakably the place where my father had bought his mirrors. The detailing on the frames was positively magnificent, and seemed to have been done with the most delicate set of hands. I thought back to the young man’s hands, and was even more dumbfounded at the possibility that he could the one behind all of them.

“Which make of mirrors are you interested in, sir?” he asked.

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure. I was so distracted by my surroundings that I’d forgotten for a moment what I’d even gone there for. “I-I,” I stammered a moment. “Perhaps just an ordinary looking-glass would do,” I suggested awkwardly.

He paused a moment, his ear turned to me. “Pardon me for saying,” he began, “But you don’t strike me as an ordinary man, sir.”

I froze momentarily, and loosened the neck of my cravat slightly as I lost the ability to swallow for a brief period of time. “I’m not exactly sure what I’m to say to that,” I laughed forcibly.

“You don’t have to say anything. It was only an observation,” he replied plainly, and felt his way over to a shelf with a multitude of mirrors laid upon it. The statement I found ironic, but I didn’t dare speak a word of it.

There was something remarkable and utterly fascinating in the way he went over the mirrors, gently running his mangled hands over each handle and frame. Sometimes he hovered over ones he’d already been over, as if selecting a mirror based on his perception of me- which I imagined was strikingly accurate.

Beside me, the wall was an absolute massacre. The paint appeared to have been hacked at with some sort of sharp knife or blade. In fact, the more I observed, the more cut-up patches I counted on the walls. In some places, small bells hung from the ceiling like ivy, and in other places, glass bottles strung to form odd, makeshift wind chimes. The floor was hardly different, patches of carpet being piled in some areas. All at once, I took a second look at the unusual young man by the mirrors, and wondered about the state of his sanity- and then, couldn’t help to worry for my own safety.

Yet once more, I was plagued by other thoughts. The phrase, ‘ignorance is the root cause of fear’ came to mind. I decided to inquire about the odd collections before making any further assumptions.

“Pardon me, sir,” I began uncomfortably, not quite certain how to phrase such a question politely, “I see you have bells and bottles strung up around the room… I also see that there appears to have been several accidents regarding the walls.”

“The cuts in the paint? Those were intentional, sir.”

My stomach sank a little. He might be mad after all.

“O-Oh,” I stammered stupidly, unable to find anything of relevance to add.

“Please, you have no need to be concerned for your safety. I assure you I’m of sound mind. I have no sight. So I’ve spread about things- textures, things that make sounds- to allow me to navigate more easily. My father, who made mirrors before me, also went blind.”

Of course. That explanation made far more sense. At the same time, I received the answer to another question- it was, in fact, he who made the mirrors.

“I see,” I replied. “I apologize for assuming-”

“Not at all,” the young man smiled. “I’m happy that you asked.”

Silence resumed in the room after that, and I watched in awe with the delicateness he used in touching the mirror’s.

At long last, he selected one and handed it to me- at which point I realized I’d been holding my breath. I observed his selection as I exhaled. A rose motif had been engraved at the top, and thorny vines crawled around the remainder of the frame, and around the handle in one tragic spiral. On the back was the finest, smallest diamond pattern with a larger but identical rose in the center. It was possibly the most intricate and beautiful handiwork I’d ever seen in a mirror, let alone a hand mirror.

Strangely, upon seeing this, I was more than positive that the man before me was the one who had created it. How poetically sad he was- a blind, young mirror-maker alone in his house of mirrors, with a craftsmanship so fine, and yet hidden away from most who’d be able to appreciate it.

Something came over me in that moment when I looked back up at him, his eyes locked in a gaze somewhere above my own.

“Your craftsmanship is unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” I breathed.

“Thank you very much, sir,” he replied humbly, bowing his head a little.

“What is your price for this?” I asked, feeling a little embarrassed as I became aware that my tone was a little more than a whisper.

“Twenty silver,” he replied.

My eyes widened again in absolute shock. “So low?!” I cried in disbelief. “Young man, you deserve far more than what you’re asking for!”

The young man simply sighed and shrugged. “The last time I saw my own reflection was when I was thirteen years old,” he replied. “I haven’t seen it, or anything else since.”

Silently, I listened to him.

“If underselling my work guarantees that more people have the opportunity to see themselves, then I have absolutely no qualms about doing so.”

An overwhelming pity washed over me, and I had to duel with myself in order to keep from crying in his shop. While I was aware he wouldn’t have seen me, I was certain he would’ve heard me.

“I’m sorry,” I replied, not knowing what else I could possibly say.

“Don’t apologize. I’m happy with what I do.”

I smiled in admiration, and thought it best that I change the subject. “I was under the impression that an older man ran the shop,” I noted thoughtfully. “I vaguely recall coming here with my father when I was a boy,” I smiled. “If I remember correctly, it was Mr. Halding himself who sold us our mirror in the foyer.”

“If you’re referring to Darius Halding, I am his son.” replied the young man.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, unable to suppress my surprise. “I’m sorry, I can’t say I saw any resemblance,” I chuckled.

“That’s quite alright,” the young man replied, his tone seemingly brighter than before. “Yumarion Halding,” he introduced and extended one of his poor hands.

“Duke Sateriajis Venomania,” I responded accordingly, shaking his hand.

“My intuition was correct, I see,” he added thoughtfully. “You aren’t ordinary after all.”

“In all fairness, you’re quite the extraordinary person, yourself,” I replied with a small laugh.

For the first time, a genuine smile passed over his features. “You’re too kind,” he laughed embarrassedly.

Even in his disheveled state, there was something I found undeniably charming about him- perhaps it was his humility.

I remembered that I hadn’t yet paid him, and so I retrieved my coin purse and thought a moment before deciding to pay him in twenty gold, rather than silver.

As I gently set the coins in his hands I saw his smile fade. “This isn’t silver,” he remarked at once. “This is heavier. You’ve paid me in gold,” he continued. His voice sounded astonishingly angry.

“I’m well aware,” I smiled, trying my best to keep the panic from being audible in my voice.

“I can’t accept this much,” he replied sadly. “While I appreciate the kindness of your offer-”

I refused to let him finish. “I have more gold than I could spend if I lived two lifetimes,” I interjected. “Accept the remainder as a gift.”

“A duke and a stranger does not give gifts to a mirror-maker,” he replied in protest.

“But a duke may give charitable donations,” I countered without missing a beat.

“I am not inclined to accept a donation for which I have no need. Donations are better suited to orphans and street-wanderers.”

“A donation to the cause of purchasing silly trinkets for the sole purpose of personal enjoyment is better suited to you than to I,” I replied.

“Silly trinkets such as a blind man’s hand mirrors?”

I was silent, my quick wit having been rendered helpless by the sharpness of his words.

“Pardon me for saying so, my lord, but I have no use for such a thing,” he added.

I swallowed a dry spot in my throat before words I hadn’t even planned to say began spilling like water from my mouth.

“And do you, by chance, have use for a friend?”

It was he who was silent this time, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Excuse me, but I can’t help but be suspicious of your motives,” he finally said, caution evident in his voice. “I do not have a reason to trust you.”

“Do you have a reason to distrust me?” I questioned.

“You answer my questions with further questions, avoiding answers.”

“My questions are my answers.”

By this point the young man seemed irritated with my persistence. “Tell me, duke. Are we truly conversing or are we playing some sort of game you’ve made up in order to entertain yourself?”

“Interpret it how you will. Allow me to say, though, that were you to be the other player, I should never grow weary of playing.”

His lips quivered a moment before slipping into a smile. “You seem to know all of the right responses,” he chuckled. “I ought to suspect you of cheating,” he grinned.

“I would never!” I cried sarcastically, laughing a bit myself.

He sighed a seemingly contented sigh. “Very well then, Duke Sateriajis Venomania of Asmodin,” he began in a teasing sort of manner, “I shall accept your proposal for friendship- however, there is one condition.”

“And that condition is?”

“Show me what you can of the world and its ways, without me being able to truly see.” 

“Spoken like a sphinx,” I jested lightly. “I will do whatever I am able to in order to solve your riddle,” I promised confidently. “How shall I start?”

“Starting tomorrow, the shop will be closed on holiday. If I may be so bold, I would enjoy it if I could spend that time in your company.” A sweet tone accompanied his smile. “It is not so often that I am able to indulge in the presence of ‘friends’.”

“Inviting yourself to my estate, are you?” I chuckled.

“Interpret it how you will,” he grinned.

“I accept your invitation,” I replied with equal knowingness. “Gather some clothes, and anything else you believe you might want or need.”

His smile widened and he turned, feeling his way to a small bureau, where he retrieved what appeared to be all of the clothes in his possession (which I might add was hardly anything at all). He gathered them into a surprisingly noisy bag, and felt his way along the wall to return to where he stood before.

“If you’d be so kind as to lead the way to your estate,” he suggested with a chuckle.

“My pleasure, Mr. Halding.”

With that I walked over to him, and I gave him my arm, accepting the bag from his opposite hand.

“A hospitable lord,” he remarked thoughtfully. “Perhaps I do have much to learn about the world.”

I only smiled in response, though I was well aware he couldn’t see me, and started out for my estate after he locked the mirror shop’s door.


End file.
